


Fact of Life

by sterlingsuspenders



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 09:24:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/417296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterlingsuspenders/pseuds/sterlingsuspenders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things in life are just facts. The sky is blue, water’s wet, Daryl Dixon is a piece of shit and a half.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fact of Life

Daryl’s used to being treated like dog shit. It’s not a damn sob-story anymore; it’s nothing to cry about. It’s just the facts. Some things in life are just facts. The sky is blue, water’s wet, Daryl Dixon is a piece of shit and a half.

Used to be, he fought it. Used to be, he stood up for himself and tried to prove what kind of man he was.

Used to be, his daddy took a fist to his face for talking big like that. Which is why used-to-bes became ain’t-no-mores.

If Merle were here, he’d be getting the living hell beaten out of him for this. Because even Merle treats him like shit; hell, Merle’s been beating on him longer than any of the rest of him.

He can practically hear his brother’s voice in his head—so loud and clear you’d think the son of a bitch was standing next to him.

 _It’s sick, you know._ His brother spits; long gone and still there to hit him when it counts. _Where_ it counts.

_He’s a fucking chink. Not even hardly human. Y’got a thing for the goats back at the farm, too?_

Nah, but you sure as hell did. -- Christ, he got the shit kicked out of him for that one when he popped off years ago. Hadn't even meant it--just some joke he tossed out half-thinking when they were grabbing a few beers at some hole-in-the-wall bar. Merle took his fits to him like he could beat the words right back into Daryl's mouth. Never made that mistake again. Didn't even joke.

He stares at Glenn—pinned between his body and the tree and looking nervous and confused.

And turned on. 

And fuck—Daryl wants him. He doesn’t even know what it is, but he doesn’t want to fight it anymore—not for the sake of a brother who ain’t even here.

_You some faggot fairy boy, now, brother? The voice in his head asks him. Got a thing for little chinese pansies?_

“Korean,” Daryl grunts, under his breath. He still has Glenn pinned to the tree: still hasn’t said anything, hasn’t moved.

“What?” Glenn asks, glancing around as if afraid someone might see them. Even though it’s the middle of the night and they’re the only two on watch and everyone else is tucked up in their tents and long since asleep.

So he doesn’t think about it. He crashes his mouth into Glenn’s and lets himself ride on pure sensation. He barely hears the puff of air that manages to escape Glenn’s mouth just before they’re locked together. Hardly a beat passes before Glenn’s arms come up around him and he’s arching against Daryl and moaning into the kiss.

He takes hold of the younger man’s face and drags him off of the tree and against him—not gentle, not kind, but desperate. Hungry and needy and hopeful all at once.

He bites at Glenn’s lips and down his jaw to his neck, with the man’s whispered encouragements urging him onward. And he realizes—this is it.

He wants Glenn—needs him—because Glenn is the first person who hasn’t treated him like he was shit. Who hasn’t looked down on him. Glenn brushes off his crass comments, Glenn doesn’t look at him like he’s some loose cannon. He isn’t afraid.

He’s sure as hell no delicate flower either, what with the fervor with which he mouths at Daryl’s throat—pushes his hands under Daryl’s shirt.

And for once, Merle—real or not, here or not—has got nothing to say.

He grins, dragging Glenn’s mouth up to meet his. His hands dip down to dive beneath the waistband of Glenn’s pants. He pulls back just a little—nipping at Glenn’s lips and smiling against his mouth.

“So how about it, Chinaman?” He punctuates the words with licks and nips and bites that work their way across Glenn’s jaw and down to his collarbone.

“Korean,” Glenn corrects—breathless and hazy-eyed. “And hell yes.”


End file.
